


Brimstone

by KatieHavok



Series: Breeding Lilacs [11]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bittersweet, Demon Sex, Demons, Drunkenness, F/M, First Time, Good Demons, Goodbye Sex, Horn Stimulation, Horn!porn, Horns, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Late Night Conversations, Loneliness, Loss of Virginity, Mages, Oral Sex, Post-Movie 1: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Reunions, Sex, Slow Dancing, Spellcasting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-09 20:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10421313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KatieHavok/pseuds/KatieHavok
Summary: She slinks home bitterly at the end of the day to knock back a few shots of Firewhiskey, followed by a few more. Once things are sufficient fuzzy and she feels like she has some tenuous control over her volatile emotions, she sets about doing the only thing that makes sense in her alcohol-soaked brain: she draws a circle of protection, lights her preferred candles, and intones an admittedly risky spell designed to reveal the person with whom she will hopefully, someday,maybeshare her life.Of course, because it has beenone of those days, it all goes a bit pear-shaped.





	1. By Demons Be Driven

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pop_Rocks_And_Skittles/gifts).



*

Tina Goldstein did not _intend_ to summon a demon. It was just...one of those days.

Things had started off on the wrong foot when her battered brass alarm clock failed to ring, causing her to be inexcusably late to work. The day steadily progressed downhill from there: a failed attempt at a simple Invocation at the office, followed by her preferred hot dog vendor being closed for a health inspection at lunch. After that came a reprimand for something she _hadn’t_ done, and a stern telling off from her most respected boss. And finally, the straw that had broken the camel’s back: her beautiful, radiant sister unabashedly announcing her engagement to a man whose only magic lay in the oven—all to the delight of those around her.

Tina _is_ happy for Queenie. Honestly. She just doesn't know how to show it without dissolving into hysterical tears.

She slinks home bitterly at the end of the day to knock back a few shots of Buchanan's, followed by a few more. Once things are sufficient fuzzy and she feels like she has some tenuous control over her volatile emotions, she sets about doing the only thing that makes sense in her alcohol-soaked brain: she draws a circle of protection, lights her preferred candles, and intones an admittedly risky spell designed to reveal the person with whom she will hopefully, someday, _maybe_ share her life.

Of course, because it has been _one of those days_ , it all goes a bit pear-shaped.

The _first_ indication that things aren’t quite right is when her protective circle began to glow the color of banked ashes. She stares in soggy confusion, drunkenly enraptured. The second is when all the lights in the room flicker and go out in declamatory fashion. The scent of brimstone and sulfur fills her nostrils as she looks around in alarm until one of the painstakingly inked runes covering her arm begins to tingle.

She looks down at it curiously. Imbued with her own not-insignificant magic, she had permanently inked it into her skin at a young age, when she first became interested in pursuing a career in magical law enforcement. Now the sigul, designed to warn against rogue demons, is buzzing—not burning, as it should be, but tingling in an almost _anticipatory_ manner. She traces it with her opposite hand and hisses when a vibration works through her. Confused and intrigued, she raises her fingers to stare at them, momentary darkness and odd scent quite forgotten—until a soft, accented voice speaks up behind her.

“Um. Excuse me.”

Shocked into instant sobriety, Tina whirls around with her hand raised and a defensive spell poised on her lips, only for her jaw to unhinge at the sight before her. A man stands where there were none moments before, seeming perfectly human in most aspects—except for the tiny, dark horns protruding from his forehead, just below his hair. The same for his pointier-than-they-should-be teeth, which are revealed when he flashes a nervous smile. Then there are his hands, which are mostly normal...if you discount the fact that they’re tipped with odd black fingernails that somehow resemble _hooves_.

Also, he’s without the benefit of clothes—and Tina’s eyes drop without her input to discover that he’s also quite human below the neck, and every inch a _man._ She jerks her gaze away from _that_ part of him as if burned, feeling her eyes sting with ridiculous tears, and tries not to come across as absurdly virginal when she looks him in the face.

He blinks at her mildly and tilts his head before looking around.

Tina glares at the rune on her arm, finding it frustratingly inert and useless, and furrows her brow before slowly relaxing her defensive stance. He, in turn, reacts off her body language to rotate in a tight circle on the spot, looking around with a crooked but delighted smile. She watches him narrowly.

His eyes, she notes almost against her will, are a surprisingly lovely shade of blue-green, his hair a no-color that somehow encompasses red, blond and brunette shades all at once. His skin is on the swarthy side and covered in, of all things, _freckles_. Most startling of all, however, are the scars—countless in number, and seeming to cover every inch of his well-toned hide.

His is a body that puts her in mind of the epics she had read as a child: brave men riding dragons and Hippogriffs into battle, and faces so beautiful they were said to have inspired men to war. Tales of gorgons and Gods and nymphs, all battling for and against the mortals they each wished to dominate for their own ends. She had loved those stories, and the realization that many of them were true had been an epiphany as she aged.

Now a demon, an honest-to-goodness _demon_ , one of those beasts of legend, looks wonderingly about her sitting room, watching her as frankly as she considers him. For the moment, despite and perhaps _because_ of how utterly absurd the situation is, there is only one question that seems reasonable to ask:

“Who are you?”

He answers her in a voice that is surprisingly melodic. The few demons she’d met along the way had led her to believe that they all sounded as though they were speaking through a throat full of gravel. Not this one; his tone is measured and gentle and even, somehow. The soft accent rounding his consonants and clipping his vowels helps, but she thinks it’s mostly just _him_ —and she can’t quite put her finger on what, exactly, he _is_ because her demon rune is maddeningly silent.

“Newt Scamander,” he replied finally and lifts a hand in a tentative wave. “And you are?”

Tina neatly sidesteps the question. “What are you doing in New York?” It’s a good question, yes—but not the one she wants to ask. Newt quirks a brow and glances around before moving toward the window, pushing the curtain aside to peer out into the evening rush. Tina watches the smooth way his skin moves over his compact muscles when he moves and tries to ignore the sudden dryness in her throat.

“Is that where I am?” he asks her, turning his head to meet her eyes briefly. She nods with a hummed confirmation and a slanted brow and he _grins_ , wide and sunny and shockingly toothy. Tina stares when that smile transforms his narrow, angular face into something almost beautiful before he returns his attention to outside. It takes a concerted effort to look away from him but she manages it, and her face burns as she examines her shoes.

“What a _curious_ name for a city,” he mumbles, and his voice is even more melodic than before. Tina feels the shifting air currents and smells the pungency of cooking metal when he turns back to her, and she lifts her head to find that he’s moved closer. She takes a wary step back to compensate, and Newt stops to hunch his shoulders and lifts his palms in a universal _I’m-no-threat_ gesture.

She manages to look him in the face after an uncomfortably awkward pause, only to find that he appears both harmless and distraught. “I take it that I’m not what you were...aiming to achieve, then?” There’s a sadness in his tone, highlighted by weary expectancy, and Tina experiences a pang when she shakes her head.

“No,” she admits in a hoarse whisper, and the not-demon snaps off a quick nod while dropping his hands.

“Right,” he says crisply. He looks over her shoulder at the ruined circle before trying on a wobbly smile. “In that case, I won’t bother you any longer. I was having quite a nice nap so I guess I’ll...return to it, then.”

Tina sighs a little raggedly and manages a small nod. The demon called Newt stares at her for a moment longer before inclining his head and sketching out an odd little half-bow. She opens her mouth—to bid him farewell, perhaps, or maybe a safe journey—and instead blurts out, “Why don’t you stay? Just for a little while.” He stares, and she swallows nervously before bravely committing to the course. “I don’t mind, really, and I was just about to, um. Make some hot cocoa. Do you like hot cocoa?”

Newt blinks at her in wonder for the space of three seconds before dropping his eyes. He shifts his feet awkwardly and clicks his fingernails together before mumbling, “I don’t know. About hot cocoa.” He looks up and smiles shyly, and something in Tina’s chest _squeezes_. “I’ve never had it.”

“Well,” she hastily assures him, “I’m not as good as my sister, but I’m no slouch in the kitchen. I think you’ll like it.” Something happens to her face then, a different kind of warmth climbing over her chest and neck, and she _smiles_ for what feels like the first time in a very long while. Though she doesn’t know it, her small smile takes the demon’s breath away, and he gasps when she bravely meets his eyes.

“Come on, Mr. Scamander—I’m not going to poison you,” she teases gently and leads her new friend into the kitchen.

*


	2. Dancing With Demons

*

Hot cocoa, it turns out, is a drink, an almost cloyingly sweet one that’s served warm. Newt slurps it with gusto, smiling at her shyly over the rim of his mug and pretending not to notice the way Tina stares at him, her own drink quite forgotten in the face of her wonder, and not a small bit of confusion.

He shifts uncomfortably under her perusal, and she drops her eyes—for a few seconds, at least. Then they return to him like iron filings to a magnet, and the back of his neck heats up as he tries to match the intensity of her gaze until she shies away, he drops his eyes, and they start again. The whole thing would be charming if it weren’t so _confusing_. He’s used to mortals—especially _female_ mortals—being afraid of him. Her frank curiosity is a novelty, and inspiring in its own way, so he weathers _it_ and his doubts until the drink is gone and she’s staring fixedly just to the left of his shoulder.

“Um,” he says slowly and touches the rim of the cup. “Would you—that is, do you happen to have any more of this? It’s very good. I’ve never known a drink to be so sweet.”

“Oh, there’s plenty more,” Tina says and scrambles to her feet. She stumbles over the leg of her chair in her haste and he politely pretends not to notice when she trips before righting herself and walking nonchalantly to the stove. “Here,” she says in a hoarse whisper and brings a metal pan over to pour him a generous dollop. He glances up in time to see the tears standing in her eyes, and wraps his fingers around her wrist without thinking.

She inhales sharply before going very still.

“Are you alright?” Newt asks in his gentlest voice, the one he’d last had occasion to use on the three-headed dog of Hades, just before singing it to sleep. Tina gasps and looks at him with wide eyes before wrenching her hand free.

“I’m fine,” she says a bit too quickly. He doesn’t believe her but there’s no time to ponder her evasiveness because the front door of Tina’s home opens and another woman—this one radiant in a way that is a sharp contrast to Tina’s dark and brooding beauty—breezes into the room. She shrugs off her jacket and steps into a pair of fuzzy mules before floating unconcernedly into the kitchen.

“Oh!” she breathes, stopping short when she catches sight of him, and her blue gaze drifts curiously to the other woman. “Who’s he?” she asks with no apparent concern. Tina pushes her dark hair back and sighs deeply before turning to face him.

“Mr. Scamander,” she intones with heavy irony, “I’d like you to meet my sister, Queenie.” She turns to the blond. “Queenie, that’s Mr. Scamander. Um, he’s...lost his way, I think, and I’m going to help him find it.”

“Lost his way?” Queenie echoes, and her disconcerting blue eyes land on him. They glow eerily for a long moment before she winces and lifts a hand to rub her temple. “Oh,” she moans lowly, “what are you, some kinda demon or somethin’?”

“Er—might be,” he murmurs with a crooked smile, temporarily caught off-guard by the blunt question, and her eyes widen when she steps back. His smile dims until she visibly rallies, looking him over before sharing a questioning glance with her sister.

“Teenie, what have you been up to?” She asks her sister with an excited bounce, and Tina shrugs and crosses her arms over her chest in response. Queenie stares at her through narrowed eyes before grinning broadly and turning back to Newt. “I always have trouble with your kind—demons,” she tells him gently. “It’s the accent.”

His gaze falls to the floor when Tina makes an odd sound, something between a laugh and a choked-off sob, and turning on Queenie. “You’re not _helping_ ,” she hisses urgently, and the blond flaps a languid hand while drifting over to the stove.

“Hogwash,” she airily rejoins while rattling pots and pans. “I can’t read him, but I can tell he’s hungry. His kind always are. Aren'tcha, honey?”

Newt looks up at her through the unruly fringe of his hair at the same time his stomach growls loudly, and now _both_ of the women are staring at him—one smiling brightly, the other frowning—and he isn’t quite sure _what_ to do with himself.

“Erm—” he attempts eloquently, only to wince when Queenie’s silvery ripple of laughter fills the room. She magically replicates a pile of lamb chops while smiling at him forgivingly, and it takes him a long minute to realize that her laughter isn’t _at_ him, but with him.

He watches the sisters cook with no small amount of wonder and, for the first time, actively wonders how he came to be there.

*

Supper is an awkward but enlightening affair.

The last time he’d had occasion to dine among humans, a war had raged and he’d been working with a legion of soldiers, all of them male, and all who’d used their tunics as napkins and swilled _cerevisiae_ like water. Now, he has to quickly learn how to use something called a fork—easy enough when watching Tina, which he does not-so-surreptitiously throughout the meal—and remember to use an _actual_ napkin. A task admittedly made easier by his distinct lack of clothing.

Chewing without flashing too many of his teeth is a challenge but he thinks he pulls it off convincingly enough, and he eats the meat the sisters pile on his plate with a grateful nod. They hardly even seem to register it when he cracks the bones to suck out the goodness within as if having a marrow-noshing demon at the table were a regular occurrence and not a distinct anomaly. He finds himself relaxing his guard as the evening wears on.

Queenie and Tina talk over the meal, the blond lightly and with the occasional ripple of laughter, the darker-haired sister straight-faced and employing an economy of words, yet both do their best to hook him into their conversation. He’s never been good at dealing with humans, especially human _women_ —outside of bed, at any rate—yet he tries for the sake of Tina and the continued regard of her remarkable, dark eyes.

“So, Mr. Scamander, where are you from?” Queenie asks him idly over dessert, something sweet and dense called a strudel. He swallows carefully before answering.

“Greece, originally,” he says in his soft voice, “though it was the Druids and Celts who first invoked me. They’re the ones who figured out my given name, at any rate.” He braves a smile but must do a bad job of it, because Queenie frowns and glances at her sister before turning back toward him.

“Then, how’d you end up here?” She queries gently, and her eyes glow blue for a long moment before she gives it up for a lost cause.

“You’re trying to read my mind again, aren’t you?” he asks curiously, and she bites her lip while nodding. He considers her bemusedly before turning his eyes to Tina, who pushes a lock of hair away from her lovely face and meets his gaze evenly. Feeling acutely awkward and far too exposed, he drops his eyes, lingering questions forgotten, and Queenie giggles.

“I’m not flirting,” she says airily and sends the dishes to the sink with a wave of her hand. Newt looks at Tina in confusion, her eyes widening in alarm when Queenie shakes her head hard enough to send her curls flying. “I’m _not_ ,” she insists a bit more firmly. “I have Jacob, remember? It’s _you_ who’s flirting with him if anything,” she admonishes, and Tina blushes crimson and drops her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbles to the table, and Queenie shoots her a haughty look. “I’m just sayin’, we don’t know how he got here. I’m going to have to send him back, so we can’t go gettin’ attached.” Queenie’s face falls, and Tina turns to him. “It’s nothin’ personal.”,

“You may find sending me back harder than you think,” he informs her seriously, “because I’m not entirely sure _how_ I came to be here. One moment, I was enjoying a nap; the next, I was in your home, and you were threatening me with magic.” He looks at Tina pointedly before going on. “As an aside, you’ll be glad to know that I’m not something that can be summoned and dispelled of _on a whim_ , Tina. It takes a fair bit more to get rid of me, and I can mostly come and go as I please.”

Tina’s fair cheeks turn a pretty shade of pink with abashment, while Queenie seems to be trying to bite back a smirk but doing a bad job of it. Newt angles his chin a little haughtily before glancing out the window, where dark has come down with finality and the streets shine with a strange, flat light. “Besides,” he continues in his gentlest, most conciliatory tone, making a conscious effort to visibly relax but intent on making Tina understand the source of his frustration, “ _you_ called _me_. Surely you had a _reason_ for that.”

Tina’s eyes widen and Queenie _giggles_ at whatever thought is in her mind, her hands clamped over her mouth in delight. “Oh, _Tina_ ,” she squeals and performs a happy wiggle right there in her chair. She bounces out of her seat before turning the full force of her smile onto Newt and beckoning him to stand. He acquiesces with unthinking military precision—only for her eyes to drop automatically to his waist before widening into shocked blue marbles.

“Mr. Sca _man_ der,” she squeaks in mock-outrage and puts her back to him while modestly covering her eyes. “You’re going to have to put _that_ away unless you want to scare the prudes and give the virgin nightmares!”

Newt turns to Tina to find that she’s hiding her face in her hands. “Nice going, Queenie,” she growls, and the blond bends double in a fit of laughter as Newt, feeling exposed and confused but evermore intrigued by the dark-haired women’s no-nonsense approach to life, stoically withstands their scorn. Tina, shaking her head with a heavy sigh, meets his eyes. “You need to put some _clothes_ on,” she explains tiredly, and Newt ducks his head in embarrassment.

Queenie, sufficiently recovered and seemingly no worse for the wear, beams when she takes his hand and leads him to a small sofa. “C’mon, honey,” she says with a grin. “We’ll pick something nice out for ya, whaddaya say?”

“I don’t see that I have much choice,” he mumbles rather petulantly, perfectly comfortable with remaining naked, but Tina smiles shakily at him from the other side of the room and Newt, suddenly bolstered, allows the blond to shoves something called a magazine under his nose. Truth be told, he doesn’t really notice any of what she shows him, most of his attention otherwise occupied by dark hair and dark eyes and lovely pale skin that’s etched with magical tattoos.

*

Newt pieces together an acceptable suit at random when his patience wears thin, snapping his fingers to summon a cavern-brown jacket and trouser combination, something called a waistcoat in the distinct color of sulfur, and a shirt of near-pristine white that feels rather like it’s trying to choke him. Queenie insists on something called a bow tie but he balks at actually tying it, already feeling far too constricted, and they compromise by hanging it inertly around his neck. He quickly loosens the top button of his shirt while Queenie pretends not to notice, and Tina stares at the exposed bit of skin, her gaze direct and unabashed until she recalls herself and, cheeks flaming red, her eyes fumble away.

Honestly charmed and amused, and a bit flattered, Newt shoves his hands into his pockets to glance at himself in the mirror, only to grimace when it shows his _true_ form, not the humanoid shape he wears when walking among mortals. Neither of the girls seems to notice, wrapped up in their own murmured conversation, and he quickly moves away from his reflection while hastily putting on a nonchalant air.

A knock rings out from the door behind him, and Queenie makes a happy sound before trotting gaily across the room. She flings the door open to throw her arms around a short, portly gentleman who murmurs a greeting before returning her enthusiastic embrace and stumbling over the threshold. He hangs his jacket before turning to Tina, who crosses her arms over her chest when he nods politely. Frowning in a way that doesn’t quite fit his broad, friendly face, he turns to Newt and sizes him up curiously before showing a tentative smile.

“Hey, how ya doin’?” the stout man greets him and clasps Newt’s just-passing-for-human hand in a companionable shake before thumping him on the back. The man is warm and _friendly_ in a way that puts the not-quite-demon instantly at ease, and he murmurs a greeting while making uncharacteristic eye contact. Queenie appears at their side and the man turns to her with a lover’s smile.

In a sudden flash of insight, Newt thinks he understands the dynamic at the heart of the three of them far better than a moment before and turns to eye Tina from across the room. She stares back with stubborn determination before remembering the remains of his circle, the one that had summoned him, and waving it away. It goes in a flash of light with a parting whiff of sulfur before Queenie turns to make introductions.

Jacob, as it turns out the other man is called, effortlessly pulls him into their trio, and even Tina relaxes her prickliness after just a short while, unbending in the face of his sheer _friendliness_. He produces baked goods the likes of which Newt’s never experienced, even counting Queenie’s lovely strudel, but which awaken a long-dormant part of him to clamor for more. He helps himself to another tasty treat—something called a paczki—and munches it thoughtfully as across the room, Queenie turns up the volume on a tinny, music-producing device called a wireless and pulls Jacob into a dance.

Tina watches them with absent fondness before she and Newt resume their cautious observations of earlier. She looks up at him, he matches her gaze until she drops her eyes, and this goes on until Jacob and Queenie are breathless with laughter and the candles have burned low.

Alcohol comes out after that, something his hosts call Buchanan's. They offer him a glass and he accepts it curiously, finding it strangely cool going down, and very refreshing. Queenie pours everyone a second round and he knocks his back neatly, followed by another until a softness suffuses his limbs and the damnably perceptive woman with golden curls smirks at him.

“What don’tcha ask her?” She encourages while placing a gentle hand on his arm. Newt squints at her in confusion before Queenie turns her head to deliberately look at Tina. With a wink that clearly conveys, _I know what I’m doing, so just trust me on this_ , she drifts back to her beau and leaves him to his own devices.

Which is precisely where he _doesn’t_ want to be, because he’s slightly drunk and slightly lonely, and Tina is _lovely_ beneath her boxy work blazer, dressed in hip-accentuating black slacks and a thin white blouse, and while it’s true he wants to dance with her, it’s also true that he’s _utterly convinced_ his eager hands will leave scorch marks on her undeniably feminine shirt. Or, worse, burn it right off her.

Lost in reflection, Newt wanders closer until he’s standing directly in front of her, her dark eyes regarding him nervously as he thinks his long thoughts. He comes back to himself with an almost audible _thump_ , trying on a smile he suspects comes across as a grimace and consciously hiding his pointed teeth. She crosses her arms over her chest while hoisting a sardonic brow, and he ducks his head to search the floor for his words.

“Um,” he begins and rolls his eyes at his own ineptitude. “That is, would you, er—would you like to dance?” He says the last in a rush and takes a deep breath to repeat himself, more slowly this time, when she snorts rudely and shakes her head.

“Thank you, but no,” she says sharply. “I know my sister put you up to it. You don’t have to ask me on _her_ account.”

“She didn’t,” he corrects quickly, forgetting his awkwardness long enough to meet her eyes. “I wanted to ask you. She just...encouraged me.” He takes a deep breath while shrugging one shoulder. “So. Would you? Dance with me, I mean.”

Tina stares at him until he squirms uncomfortably in place. “Please,” he breathes while doing his level best to hold her gaze, and she relaxes her jaw with a put-upon huff to sigh loudly.

“Alright,” she growls, and he carefully bites back his smile. “One dance, _one_ , and this had better not be a pity thing or I _swear_ , I will make you regret it.”

_I don’t think I could regret anything you did to me_ is on the tip of his tongue, but he’s not so drunk as to think this a wise comment, and so refrains from voicing it. He can no longer hide his smile, however, and it widens when her small, cool hand finds his, and her arm wraps shyly around his shoulders while his drift to her waist. Her eyes lift from the floor to capture his, wide and dark and breathtaking, and he falls willingly into them.

They share one dance, and then another, and another, losing count until Jacob and Queenie leave without either of them really noticing. They dance past the point of the candles sputtering out, and when true darkness descends on the apartment, Newt allows a bit of the fire in his soul to warm and light the place. Tina hums her thanks and he thoughtlessly pulls her closer, pressing his face into her neck to inhale the clean, human scent of her.

The kiss they share at the end of the night isn’t planned, but then neither was his being here. Yet one taste of Tina—whose mouth is sweeter even than the hot cocoa she’d given him earlier—is enough to convince him that _here_ is precisely where he wants to be.

*


	3. Walking The Demon

*

Tina’s wayward, awkwardly charming, accidentally (though perhaps _not_ so accidentally, if she’s being entirely honest with herself) summoned demon stays in New York for seven days.

“Herne the Hunter,” he says genially as they pick through the woods upstate. She’d brought him here on a whim before asking idly about his other names, and now, dodging a low-lying bramble, she finds herself having second-thoughts—and not just because they are alone in a deep thicket of woods.

“Also, I’ve been called Quirinus, Mithra, Ampelus, confused with Dionysus, and been mistaken for my brother Theseus on more occasions than I can count.” Newt goes on with a chuckle, a sound like water flowing through a throat of gravel. She stops short and blinks at him in confusion. “Though I’m not sure how given that he’s twice my size and a much fiercer warrior.”

Tina furrows her brow. “You’re as big as any man I’ve ever met,” she says with a vague gesture and does her best to ignore the innuendo inherent to the statement. It’s surprisingly difficult—he’s shed his suit coat and waistcoat, and his shirt sleeves are rolled to the elbow. With his auburn hair tumbled about his head, his small horns and a sharp smile on display, he’s wild and Fey and _far_ too attractive. Looking at him is distracting in the worst way, but keeping her eyes away is almost impossible, and Tina can’t quite figure out what to _do_ with herself.

Newt flashes a charmingly crooked, cheeky grin while turning to face her. “I don’t mean like this,” he clarifies. “I mean the way I look when I’m entirely myself. I’m quite small. _Compact_ , I suppose you’d say. My brother is much more physically imposing, though not as big as my father. I take after my mother. She’s quite petite, though very beautiful.”

“Can I see?” she asks without thinking, and the smile slips off his face as though it were never even there. Tina quickly backpedals. “Sorry, I’m sure that’s not very polite. I’d imagine it’s much like asking you to take off your clothes—er, not that I’m asking for that either. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t already _seen_ it all, what with you showing up _naked_ , but...ah.” She fumbles to a halt and glares at the spongy forest floor, smacking her palm on her forehead as she clenches her jaw.

“Sorry,” she manages through her tear-clogged throat, only to flinch when slender but _hot_ fingers wrap around her wrist without warning.

“Tina,” he murmurs. She shakes her head as reproachful tears blur her vision, and he squeezes her wrist gently as his other hand cups her cheek to thumb beneath her eye.

“ _Tina_ ,” he repeats, more firmly this time, and she braces herself for whatever expression he’s wearing before hesitantly looking up at him.

He doesn’t appear angry or put out with her questions. If anything, he seems hurt—by her tears? By her damnable curiosity? Tina can’t tell, and that only serves to upset her more. She snorts wetly when Newt clucks his forked tongue, his eyes soft on her as he warmly folds her into his arms. Tina presses her face into his chest to hear the frantic pounding of his heart and the _whoosh_ of air in his lungs. Closing her eyes, she recalls a few nights earlier, when he’d held her similarly close in a dance before leading them into a tentative but heart-stopping kiss.

“Humans,” he murmurs with infinite fondness as his hand strokes soothing circles into her back. “I will never understand their tendency to leak at the eyes. Why are you upset, can you tell me?”

Tina sniffles and attempts a watery smile, though only his shirt witnesses it. “When I asked to see you—you know, as you _actually_ look—you stopped smiling so I thought, maybe...” She trails off when his hand falls still, only for him to duck his head to catch her gaze. She meets his searching look, his eyes a steady shade of gold-green and disconcertingly direct. She blinks at him in wonder and he runs his thumb over her cheek before dropping his eyes to her lips.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, or insult me if that’s what you’re thinking,” he whispers, and now it’s her turn to switch her focus to his mouth, giving herself permission to remember what it felt like when he’d kissed her those few nights ago. They fall silent, staring hungrily across the divide until Newt nervously moistens his lips with a flash of tongue—and she’s reminded _again_ of his essential difference when the muscle is dark and split neatly down the middle.

Tina knows well the potential risks and rewards associated with being involved with him, never mind the fact that his kind is only newly-legal in New York, and that there is still myriad discrimination whenever one walks the streets freely. Yet, all the facts and logic of the situation refuse to silence her heart, which has woken up and _sung_ since their first kiss and strengthens its siren song with his continued proximity.

He shifts subtly into her space, stopping just shy of her mouth to gauge his welcome. Her sigh seems to take all the tension with it and she closes her eyes before swaying forward to brush his lips. He makes a soft, hungry sound and urges her closer, slanting their mouths more firmly together as her hands find his chest and his fingers card erratically through her hair.

They kiss in crossing beams of sunlight, dust motes dancing around their heads as creatures call and birds sing, but nothing else matters except the heat they share.

*

He allows her to see his true form a few days later.

Tina’s hair is still damp from her evening ablutions when he hands her a glass of Firewhiskey, inclining his head in an invitation to join him. She tucks herself into the couch and he curls against her, pulling her feet into his lap to knead her tired arch’s until she relaxes with a deep-felt sigh.

“That’s nice,” she murmurs, and he flashes a shy smile while pressing his thumb into the ball of her foot. She makes a small, satisfied sound when the persistent ache there is relieved, and he falters for the barest moment before his cheeks flush delicately.

_Interesting_ , Tina thinks. _I had no idea demons could blush..._

Newt averts his eyes as he rubs her other foot, doing a thorough job of lessening her work-inspired aches, until she’s relaxed and boneless from the combination of his touch and alcohol. He strokes her ankles reflectively as he stares into the fire, and Tina casts around for a safe subject before abandoning it for a lost cause. Besides, the silence is comfortable, and his proximity does more to warm her than the fire and whiskey combined.

“Do you still want to see?” he asks suddenly, and she lifts her eyebrows in confusion. He ducks his head while nervously curling his fingers. “Sorry,” he mumbles to the floor. “What I meant was, do you still want to see, uh, my form? The way I look when I’m not—you know. Here.” He gestures vaguely and Tina gets the sense that he isn’t talking about her apartment. Intrigued, she sits up straight and withdraws her legs from his lap. He watches them go mournfully before meeting her eyes.

“I’d like that,” she says, and smiles. “Very much.” A thought occurs. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable.” He blinks at her and her smile turns into a grin. “Although I doubt it would, because I’ve already seen you naked,” she teases gently, “but I bet human-naked and demon-naked probably aren’t the same thing.”

“They’re not,” he confirms, and his lips curl musingly. “And technically, I’m not a demon.” She tilts her head questioningly and he stares at her shoulder musingly. “I’m not really sure what we are, my family and I, though I suppose you could call us Elementals. We’re old and very close to immortal. We have powerful magic, but we are very human in our emotions. We laugh and love and hate just as humans do, Tina.” He shrugs and meets her eyes. “We just _look_ like people think demons should look, and so that’s what they call us. When in reality, demons are incredibly beautiful and easily confused with angels, since they’re essentially two sides of the same coin.”

Tina considers this. “I guess that makes sense,” she says while considering him. His small, dark horns have always fascinated her, and now she reaches out hesitantly, giving him ample time to move away, and runs a gentle finger the length of one. He closes his eyes and leans into the contact, breathing suddenly loud and harsh in the silence of the room. Intrigued, Tina moves her fingers to the other one when he purrs and butts his head against her. His hand eventually comes up to wrap around her wrist before he drags it down to kiss her smooth skin.

Tina closes the remaining distance between them and his arms go around her waist, pulling her close as his breathing calms. “Sorry,” he murmurs, sounding anything _but_. “My horns, in this form, are quite sensitive.”

She giggles at the absurdity of the statement and he smiles slightly before dropping a kiss in her hair, lingering to breath in her scent. “At any rate,” he eventually says, “I can show you, if you’d like. I only worry that...” he trails off, and she looks at him curiously. His expression is pained, and he’s not quite able to meet her eyes as he hunches his shoulders. “I worry that I may frighten you.” Newt finally mumbles, and something in Tina’s chest gives a painful twinge.

“I don’t think you will,” she reassures, and cups his rough cheek. His eyes search her face before he kisses her palm and gentle disentangles himself from her. He stands in the middle of the room and nervously scratches his elbows before both hands fall to his sides.

“Are you ready?” He asks while boldly meeting her eyes. Tina stands to watch.

“Yes,” she says simply.

Newt fetches a deep breath and closes his eyes, and she can suddenly _feel_ his magic, an ancient, somehow visceral and weighty power building in the room.

The entire space bends and distorts around them, a hideous light flooding through that seems to have no source. Where moments before had stood her sweet and slightly daffy Newt, there was now a dark and flaming wraith, one with cloven feet and black, leathery wings. His fixed eyes glow blue-hot from within, with lethal-looking teeth bristling from his mouth and an impressive rack of horns jutting proudly from his angular brow. A forked tail curls complacently around his legs, and the creature-demon-thing tilts its head in a poignantly familiar gesture while standing perfectly still.

Despite his fearsome appearance, the apparition before her still radiates the calm, slightly befuddled aura Tina recognizes as being essentially _Newt_ , and her momentary fear gives way to wonder and intense curiosity. She moves closer and his shoulders tense, his elongated and taloned hands curling into fists.

“It’s okay,” she whispers gently, and takes another step toward him. “I’m not afraid. Not really.” She dares one more step, moving into the hot-metal smell of brimstone and sulfur that clings to him in both forms, and his shoulders gradually relax. She reaches out to touch him, watching his face carefully as curious, slightly trembling fingers brush his arm when he makes no move to stop her. Like this, his skin is rough and pebbly and fiercely hot, and she can see that he still bears the marks of battle, though these scars are dark, not pale. Amusingly, the freckles that dot him in human form are also in evidence here, and she can’t retain a shaky smile

Tina walks around him slowly, taking in every detail. She moves to his side and, though his mouth in this form isn’t really suited to smiling, he somehow quirks the corners and spreads his leathery wings. She grins in delight and reaches out to brush one, finding the membrane delicately thin and streaked with tiny veins. Also quite sensitive, if the earth-shattering rumble he produces is any indication. She strokes his wings and shoulders gently until he collapses them, his stony body shuddering deeply before her turns to her.

And just like that, the demon-wraith is gone and Newt, _her_ Newt, with his messy hair and freckled cheeks and kind, non-glowing eyes, is back. The oppressive feel of his magic leaves the room as he crosses to her in one long stride to take her face between his hands to stare into her eyes without flinching. “You really _weren’t_ afraid,” he breathes in wonder. Tina shakes her head with a small smile.

He rains damp kisses over her face through his grin before taking her mouth in a searing kiss, twining his hot tongue around hers and nibbling her bottom lip. He breaks away to map her jaw and Tina makes a hungry sound when he drags his lips down her throat, his arms wrapping around her and  _lifting_. She squeaks her surprise but he steals the sound when he returns to her lips, and she’s panting by the time he lays her over the couch and covers her. Tina mindlessly tangles their legs together while sliding her arms around his shoulders, focused only on getting _closer_ to him, and he gasps noisily before dragging his mouth over her skin.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Newt grates out as he pushes her dressing robe aside to tenderly kiss her collarbone, and Tina moans shamelessly.

“You’re right,” she agrees in a hoarse voice while burying her fingers in his hair, and he hisses when she tugs his mouth back to hers. She nips and sucks his bottom lip until he forces them to gentle their embrace, kissing her sweetly as she pants beneath him.

“We really shouldn’t,” he insists while shakily disentangling himself from her fingers. Tina sits up sharply to squeeze his shoulder.

“I don’t care about _should_ and _shouldn’t_ ,” she states through a bravely set jaw. His eyes meet hers and Tina swallows down a hungry moan. “I don’t,” she repeats, but her nervous swallow gives her away.

Newt smiles softly and drags her into his lap, careful not to let her settle against his center.

“I know you don’t care, but _I_ do,” he whispers against her cheek. His fingers tighten momentarily before petting her smooth skin, and she sighs while closing her eyes in defeat. He murmurs sadly before resting his cheek on the crown of her head. “I just don’t want you to suffer for me, Tina. I know how mortals fear my kind, and I’m afraid that I would taint you irrevocably.”

“You _wouldn’t_ ,” she insists, but she no longer sounds quite so sure, even to herself, and Newt smiles sadly while kissing her temple.

“I know I _would_ , and even though I want this _very_ badly, that’s not something I’m willing to risk,” he whispers. “I’ve come to care for you far too much for that.”

She wants to say, _it’s only been a few days_. She wants to say, _I don’t care, please help me with the burden of my loneliness_. She wants to say, _never leave_. She doesn’t. Instead, she squeezes him while inhaling his scent of metal-brimstone-sulfur, and tries hard to convince herself that he doesn’t smell like home.

*

Queenie finds them early the next morning, tangled together on the couch as the demon holds her sister tenderly close. She tunes into the run of their dreams—hers warm and content, his jumbled and confused but with a steady thread of _Tina, Tina, Tina_ pulsing through them—and smiles happily as she starts her day.

*


	4. Demonoid Phenomenon

*

It’s their last day together, and they both know it.

Tina isn’t sure _why_ she thought walking around the city with him was a good idea. Maybe it’s the euphoria of simply having him near, or perhaps he puts out a magical compulsion that overrides her better judgment. Either way, they’d gone out, and while many of the elves, mages, shape-shifters, and werewolves they encounter seem unbothered by Newt’s presence, there’s still the occasional non-magical human who gives him a dirty look or even crosses the street to avoid him.

Newt pretends not to be hurt by or even notice this, but she can see the gathering shadows behind his eyes. When a shopkeeper refuses to even allow him entry, he flinches and hunches his shoulders as if absorbing a blow. “I’ll be just outside,” he reassures her in a murmur, and she casts the man behind the counter a furious glare before turning to Newt.

“You shouldn’t _have_ to go outside,” she says loudly. “Not because he chooses to be ignorant. We don’t need anything from here that we can’t get somewhere else.” She sniffs haughtily before deliberate twining her fingers through Newt’s and dragging him away.

Her shoulders are tense as she frog-marches them through the streets, and they stay like that for an entire block until she stops suddenly and whirls on him. She’s still hanging on to his hand, and he debates pointing it out to her until she opens her mouth.

“It’s not right,” Tina says in a soft voice that’s at odds with her evident fury. “People shouldn’t be able to just... _treat_ you that way.” She makes as if to touch him and he considers leaning away from her. They’re on a sidewalk and surrounded by people, and while none of them express interest in their discourse, his recent experience has convinced him that prudence is the wisest course of action.

“I know,” he agrees and allows her to push a coppery curl off his brow. He sighs at the contact, as he always does, and her hand slips down to cup his cheek. “But I’m used to it. People have always either ignored or feared my kind, unless I was useful to them, in which case they tolerated me until I performed whatever task they needed to be done. Then they sent me back, or I left on my own.” He quirks his mouth in a small, sad smile. “I think I annoyed the few who asked me to stay.”

“Well, you don’t annoy me,” she says in a small voice, and he drops his eyes to the cracked sidewalk as his smile broadens.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he reassures her and rolls his cheek into her hand before deliberately putting space between them. He squeezes her fingers comfortingly and she squeezes back, and they head toward her apartment through the noon throngs with matching bittersweet smiles, blind to the curious glances of those around them.

*

Queenie cooks a wonderful supper of roast beef and potatoes, and Newt eats his share of meat with fussy politeness as the sisters talk through the strained atmosphere. He knows what he has to do, what he _should_ do, but that doesn’t make the coming separation any easier. The fact that Tina knows instinctively and Queenie can pluck it out of his brain acts as a pall over the meal, and his meat sits uncomfortably in his stomach when Tina joins him on the couch after her sister’s invented an excuse to spend the night with Jacob.

“You don’t _have_ to leave,” Tina attempts, and he smiles sadly while pulling her close.

“I should, though,” he whispers into the curve of her neck. “We both know I wasn’t what you were attempting the day I arrived, and you never really invited me to stay.” She doesn’t refute this and he nods mournfully when she remains quiet. “I’ve no wish to be a burden on you, Tina. I had a great deal of fun here, and I’m glad to see how far humans have advanced...yet you as a species have a _long_ way to go, and I’m not comfortable with you having to deal with their cruelty because of _me_.”

“But I can handle it,” she says in a cracked voice, and he squeezes her tightly while inhaling her good, clean scent.

“I’m sure you can,” he whispers into her skin. “But Tina, _I_ don’t want you to have to handle it on my account. Don’t you understand? I’d rather leave now and spare you that pain, than stay and watch you suffer because of me. Humans are _vicious_ , Tina. They’re the most vicious creatures on this plane of existence. Do you think I could stand by and watch that cruelty turned onto you? I couldn’t.” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t,” he repeats and closes his eyes.

Tina hums and touches his cheek until he looks at her, and she meets his eyes with her own, rather damp ones. He sighs shakily while thumbing away her tears, and she gently squeezes his arm. “I understand,” she murmurs. “I don’t agree with it, but I understand. I’d do the same thing for my sister, and if the tables were turned, I know I’d do it for you.” She presses her lips together to stop their trembling before braving a smile. “Just don’t ask me to like it.”

“I don’t like it either,” he whispers fervently and tilts his forehead against hers. “I hate it, truth be told, but I _have_ to leave before I...” Newt trails off, and it’s more suggestive than he intends but then, he knows what he would say if he could, and he thinks she knows too.

Her smile goes from watery to radiant, and she reaches up to stroke his right horn with a gentle finger. He closes his eyes and purrs at the contact. Tina squeezes his shoulder while kissing a path to his ear.

“Will you stay the night, then?” she whispers, and he shivers when her cool tongue touches his hot skin. She tentatively nibbles his earlobe before dropping down to map the strong line of his jaw, and he bites back a low groan when her tongue slides against his skin. She kisses a tender path to his mouth before sweeping her eyes over his face. “Stay with me tonight. In my bed,” she repeats, and it’s not a question but a _command_ —one he’s only too willing to follow.

“Yes, Tina,” Newt breathes and allows her to lead him to the bedroom.

*

The door is barely closed behind them when she sets to work on his clothes, her mouth cool and hungry as she peels off his layers until she can touch the proof of history that is his chest, tracing his scars with her blunt fingernails. He groans into her mouth when she dips her hands to his waist, and his fingers fumble her blouse before abandoning her lips just long enough to tug it over her head. It floats to the floor as she kisses him hungrily, shaky fingers working at the buttons fastening his trousers.

They denude their bottom halves without fanfare, tossing aside skirts and trousers and underwear until he’s as naked as the day they’d met, and she’s working on peeling off her corset. Her stockings go with it and he gasps at the first cool brush of her skin against his, her hands touching him teasingly until she twines around him to deepen their kiss with only her shift between them.

“Bed,” he growls into her mouth, and she walks backward while pulling him along until the back of her knees bump the mattress and she sinks down. He follows eagerly, urging her through light touches and hissed instruction until she’s spread invitingly over the blankets, and he is covering her from shoulder to hip. He groans while nibbling the strap of her shift before leaning on one elbow to examine her face.

“You’ve never done this before.” It isn’t a question.

Tina bites her lip nervously while nodding, and he brushes his knuckles along her shoulder as he digests this. “Do you know...what could happen, then?” he finally asks, and she nods again while twining her fingers in his hair.

“I know,” she says softly. “But I don’t care. I want this. I want _you_ , even if I never have another man for the rest of my life. I can’t imagine I would want anyone else, anyways.” She quirks a smile that is sad and teasing all at once. “We have a saying: ‘once you go demon, you can’t go back’, and I’m okay with that.” She leans up to kiss his shoulder. “I know you won’t be here in the morning. Just...let’s make tonight memorable. Okay?”

“Tina,” he rasps, and she slants a finger across his lips before kissing him. She tastes like fresh air and cool waves, and he chases the flavor around her mouth before dragging his lips over her chin and jaw and further down, to pepper her chest as his hands find the hem of her shift. She eagerly lifts her hips and helps him slide it over her torso until she is free and he absently tosses it aside. Tina watches him nervously as Newt takes a long moment to look and admire.

Both her arms are covered in thick black runic tattoos, extending up to and over her shoulders. They end abruptly there, and her chest is acres of pale, somehow vital flesh, with not a single scar or imperfection. She’s dotted here and there with beauty marks, and his tongue _longs_ to trace them. He drags his eyes lower, to the small, round globes of her breasts, topped with tempting, dusty pinks nipples. Her stomach is a creamy, slightly rounded expanse, her waist a lovely notch that swells to the curve of her inviting hips. The primordial forest that guards her hidden sanctum sits beneath her navel, nestled between soft but trim thighs. He can smell her from here, almost _taste_ her, and he licks his lips hungrily before meeting her eyes.

“Beautiful,” he declares simply, a word that he has only had occasion to use once or twice in his long, long life, and she nods.

“I’m not sure I believe that, but thank you,” she murmurs with no sign of self-consciousness, and he takes that as the challenge it is.

“Then allow me to prove it,” he whispers while lowering his mouth to her neck.

He maps her throat and shoulders with lips and tongue, and she sighs her approval. He breathes into and licks the tender skin where her neck meets her chest, inhaling her woodsy, somehow _meaty_ human scent as she first gasps, then moans when he suckles hard enough to leave a bruise behind. He drags his mouth lower, careful not to scrape her _too_ hard with his teeth, to lave her throat and collarbones. Tina gasps and shudders her pleasure, and Newt’s mouth curls of its own volition as he licks his way to her breasts.

He wraps his fingers around their curve when he licks and sucks her nipples. They harden to pebbles between his lips and he nibbles them with his needle-sharp teeth before releasing them to tingle in the cool air. He dips to tongue the valley of her cleavage and Tina’s entire body begins a slow undulation beneath him, rocking in search of friction and to encourage his explorations. Down, down to her navel, where he dips his tongue in to taste before sucking the expanse of flesh between her sparse, coarse hair and her belly button.

Tina’s hands find his hair, raking through the mop to scrap his scalp before drifting over to gently stroke his horns. He _groans_ loudly into her flesh as he works his mouth to the juncture of her thighs, kissing the crease where her legs meet her torso before dropping a kiss into her damp curls. She gasps loudly but her fingers keep working at him, circling the base of his horns before stroking their rough curve. He growls when she abandons them to squeeze his shoulders until she gasps and her hips roll against him when he presses his mouth to her sex.

Newt flicks his eyes up to gauge her reaction, finding her lips parted in bliss, her cheeks flushed and hair wild as she arches invitingly. Her hard nipples scrape the air and he pushes his hands up her torso to palm them, eyes never leaving her face as he runs out his tongue to hungrily sample her. Her fingers curl into fists before finding a home, one hand stroking the nape of his neck, the other carding erratically through his hair. He can _taste_ her unspoiled status, the tang of her virginity as heady as good wine, and he slicks his tongue eagerly through her dewy folds until she hisses and arches when he gently eases it inside.

She snaps the small of her back with a choked iteration of his name as he rhythmically pushes into her, over and over, running the muscle of his tongue out to its full length to sample all her goodness. A black lust rolls through him when he abandons her cleft for the bundle of nerves that crowns it, flicking his forked tongue against her indecently until a flush takes her chest and the light scent of her sweat fills his nose. She rocks her hips against his face as she inches closer to the edge, and he growls encouragingly when she pants and moans until his name tumbles from her mouth and she yanks his hair, her quim pulsating rhythmically as she comes. He trades his short flicks for long drags, lapping up her essence until she collapses onto the mattress, flushed and panting.

Tina’s chest is still working when she moans his name and tugs him over her to kiss his mouth and dig her blunt fingernails into his shoulders. He smiles down at her but she shakes her head and sits up quickly, displacing him until he’s crouched on the mattress. “Please don’t stop,” she says shakily. She runs coolly encouraging hands over his hot chest before dragging them down his stomach, carefully watching his face as she finds and _squeezes_ the part of him she had looked at with such wide-eyed innocence the first day they’d met.

She’s neither wide-eyed nor innocent now, touching him with surprising confidence while watching steadily. He drops his head to view her explorations, groaning at the sight of pale, slender fingers ringing his freckled length before he brings a halt to her gentle stroking. Tina whines in the back of her throat and looks at him imploringly.

“Shh...it’s okay,” he murmurs and climbs backward until he’s propped against the headboard. She follows him willingly, resting in a crouch as she examines him with a critical eye. She bends at the waist for a closer look, thrusting her ass into the air invitingly, and he stretches his arms to knead its rounded cheeks. She flicks her tongue against his skin curiously a few time as she strokes, and he groans loudly at the sheer _sensation_ of it before shivering.

“Come here,” he rasps in invitation.

Tina sits up to climb eagerly into his lap, balancing on her knees as his hands go to her hips. She leans forward to kiss and nibble the base of one of his horns until he jerks against her with a moan. He can feel her pleased smile at his reaction, at least until she runs her tongue out to lick the length of it—then, the only thing he can feel is her cool ministrations, the dampness of her mouth and the gentle moans she produces as he squeezes her hips and mindlessly thrusts against her. Her thighs relax in increments until his length flags against her ass, and her fingers circle him when she adjusts her stance and guides him to her slick entrance.

“—Wait—,” he gasps, and she freezes. He struggles past the black haze of lust, a task made easier when her mouth ceases its assault on him, to slide a hand between them. He fingers her quim lightly before finding the pleasurable knot of nerves, brushing it in careful strokes while watching her face. She bites her lip and meets his eyes, and he rubs and presses until her hips roll and her breathing begins to roughen. His hand moves from her to himself, working as a guide when she shifts until the tip of his length is snug against her opening and she’s biting her lip in anticipation.

“Whenever you’re ready, Tina,” he whispers in his silkiest voice, and she nods breathlessly before closing her eyes. He would have liked to have maintained eye contact but he recognizes her nerves, and so squeezes her hip and murmurs reassuringly, his words low and soothing as she allows herself to sink onto him. He gasps when he breaches her, the feel of her slick _newness_ almost enough to snap his control, and gasps again when her maidenhead surrenders with an almost audible _pop_. She finishes her descent with a guttural moan, arms tightening around his shoulders as she presses her trembling face into his neck. Newt keeps his hips breathlessly still while she adjusts to the invasion.

“Are you alright?” He asks hoarsely, and she murmurs into his neck before lifting her head. Her eyes are tear-bright, and something in his chest twists painfully when she looks at him. She smiles and cups his cheek, and her hips _shift_ in a way that makes them both gasp until he realizes that these tears are not _because of him_ , but _for_ him.

“I’m okay,” she breathes and claims his lips. He surrenders as a willing captive, panting into her mouth when she rolls her hips experimentally. It takes some fumbling on both their parts but they eventually find their rhythm, Tina clawing his shoulders and hanging on desperately as she rocks against him and voices small moans. She occasionally breaks tempo to _squeeze_ his length, drinking in his shocked groans while panting through her smile; he sometimes alters their rhythm to dip his head and suck a lonely nipple into his hot mouth, savoring her gasps and sighs as he flicks it with his tongue. Always, his hands glide over her smooth, silky skin, mapping her curves as she teases their pleasure to greater heights.

Tina braces both hands on his chest and meets his eyes as she squares her knees beneath her. She abandons her indulgent rolling for a more precise up-and-down motion that sees her enjoying almost all of his length, and her lips part to emit blissful sighs when she _tightens_ around him. One of his hands slips to her hips to steady her while the other eases between her thighs, feeling the slide of his length within her as he brushes the cluster of nerves until her sighs turn into groans and her head falls back.

He angles his hips and begins to gently rock them off the mattress, meeting her at the apex of her thrusts until her thighs tremble. She eventually stops moving altogether, body drawn up tight and hard as she strains toward completion. Newt seamlessly takes over from below, the mattress complaining loudly as he increases his momentum with bared teeth.

Her precisely coiled tension snaps when she keens to announce her release, the force of it powerful enough to render her temporarily mute as her mouth falls open. Newt makes up for her choked silence when she contracts around him, groaning her name in various dead languages as he holds her in his arms and focuses on maintaining his rhythm, drinking in her bliss.

She moans musically when she comes back down before purring thickly and clawing his back. Her legs shift against his and now he can feel the deep trembles in her thighs, a result of not just passion, but weariness.

Newt slows them to an easy rock until she peels herself off of him, looking at him through heavy-lidded, hazy eyes. “Can we switch?” He asks roughly, the promise of his own release gathering low in his belly.

She breathes her consent before tenderly touching his face. He gathers her close, urging her calves around the small of his back before shifting them.

He snaps at the waist and rolls them until she’s on her back and he’s pressing her into the mattress. He palms her smooth skin to arrange her legs until her ankles are on his shoulders, a position that allows him to sink _deep_ inside, and her fingers clench his biceps when he plants his palms and rolls his hips against her.

Tina’s almost unbearably tight this way, her velvety channel gripping him without quarter as he fills it. They quickly discover that adding a quick snap at the apex of his thrusts causes her to groan his name heatedly so he does it over and over, his head sagging between his shoulders as they strain together. The sound of her pleasure goes straight to his core, coiling like a compressed spring as she rocks her head back to gasp her adoration. Newt watches her worshipfully until she dissolves into bliss for a third time, purring his name as she succumbs.

He drops his gaze to where she squeezes him rhythmically, eyes widening when he can _see_ the powerful action of her muscles rippling through her mound and stomach. Newt cries out his shock when it’s all suddenly too much and his orgasm _wrenches_ free of his control. He comes almost grudgingly, her suckling quim milking him so it goes on and on, squeezing his eyes shut when his shuddering runs degrade and eventually falter until he coasts to a stop pressed deep inside her and her cool hand's stroke his skin tenderly.

“There you are,” she murmurs soothingly as the tendons and muscles holding him up loosen all at once and he sags into her skin. “There you are.”

He’s trembling violently with reaction but Tina is amazingly calm as she extracts her legs from his shoulders and tugs him into her arms, all without allowing him to slip from her body. He sinks gratefully into her embrace, tongue stuck to the roof of his dry mouth as she murmurs in his ear and adoringly strokes his hair.

“Are you alright?” She eventually asks, once his trembling has ceased and the sweat on her skin has cooled. He squeezes his eyes shut before exhaling slowly against her neck, and her arms tighten around him comfortingly. He kisses the skin there, tasting the salt of her sweat and feeling her shiver before he lifts his head.

“I’m perfect,” he decides, tracing the outline of her mouth meditatively with his thumb before replacing it with his lips. He kisses her sweetly, almost chastely, inhaling her small sigh before pulling away to peck her cheek. He shifts to put space between them and her arms tighten convulsively before letting him go. He cants his hips while moving away and slips from her body with an obscene slithering sound, a gush of fluid trailing behind when he crouches between her slender thighs. “I’m so sorry,” he murmurs as he magics the mess away, but Tina just quirks her lips while patting the empty space beside her.

“It’s not a problem,” she assures him. The bed is narrow, but she shifts and wraps him in her arms until they make it work, heads tilted together as the events of the evening catch up with them. Tina stifles a yawn as Newt tugs the blankets up and tucks them around her shoulders. She moves closer to him to soak up his eternal warmth as her eyes drift close.

An easy silence falls, and Tina's breathing is just starting to dip into the rhythm of sleep when she speaks. “You won’t be here in the morning, will you?” she whispers, and he squeezes his eyes shut with unexpected pain.

“No,” he admits, and she hums and temporarily butts her forehead into his chest.

“Are you sure you _have_ to go?” Tina asks in a tiny, broken voice, and he exhales shakily.

“Yes, I do,” he murmurs. Then, ignoring the small voice in the back of his head warning him that this is a bad idea, for once allowing himself to have something that he _wants_ : “But...I suppose I could come to visit. Come see you in person every now and then, if I may.”

Tina swallows wetly, and Newt cradles her face in his hands. Her lips are trembling despite the small, disbelieving smile she wears, and something in his chest clenches as her tears seep into his skin.

“I’d like that,” she warbles and voices an ecstatic giggle. “Very much.” She lays her head on his chest and soon, her breathing deepens and slows and he knows she’s sleeping.

“That’s good,” he says to her sleeping form, barely loudly enough for either of them to hear. She shifts minutely and he holds her close, adoring her cool presence and slight weight and wondering, for the first time in his long, _long_ existence, if _this_ was what falling in love felt like.

“I think it might be,” he decides aloud, and his lips curl into a smile when he closes his eyes.

*

Tina wakes up alone but finds that she doesn’t mind. Her pillow bares the faintest hot-metal scent of sulfur, a smell that she will forever associate with him, and her sheets still hold a trace of his warmth. She curls into it, delighting in the tender ache between her thighs, recalling how he’d scalded her from within, the firm heat of his lips, and the way his eyes had glowed while marveling in her reaction.

She’s smiling softly as she dresses and goes about her day, the scent of him still clinging to her skin and hair, and marks off the date with a long red slash to mark the time until his next visit.

*


	5. Epilogue: Demon Days (I Am Demon)

*

It’s been six months, and still no sign of Newt. Tina does her best not to worry.

Jacob and Queenie marry in the spring and leave Tina alone in the small apartment they used to share. She doesn’t mind being on her own, not really; yet sometimes, late at night, after the fire has burned low and the dark presses hard against the windows, she finds herself yearning for understanding blue-green eyes, a softly harmonic voice, and strong arms. On those nights, she sees herself off to bed with a shot of whiskey and, if the loneliness is truly crushing, touches herself while imagining it’s him. It’s an incredibly paltry substitute for the real thing, but it’s all she has, and so she clings to it stubbornly.

Tonight is shaping up to be bad. It’s been another one of those days, and she drags herself home tiredly to kick off her shoes at the door and cast a cooling charm on the apartment. It doesn’t alleviate the summer heat much, or the oppressive humidity, and for once she’s grateful to be alone as she strips down to base layers while preparing a lonely bachelorette’s supper. She eats without really tasting it, staring blankly at the same sentence in a book she’s been attempting to read for weeks, and swilling lemonade until she feels waterlogged and spongy.

Bedtime comes quickly, and she washes half-heartedly after shucking the remainder of her clothes. She doesn’t notice the anticipatory tingle in her demon rune as she trudges naked into the bedroom to climb discontentedly between the sheets. She casts another air-cooling charm between clenched teeth, this time a bit more effectively, and sighs when cool air washes over her—only to growl her irritation when it’s followed by an unexpected burst of heat.

“Are you _kidding_ me?” She gripes aloud, only to freeze when a painfully familiar scent fills her nose.

Brimstone and sulfur, the hot-metal smell of a cherished and fondly-recalled body, and she holds her breath when _hope_ swells in her chest.

“All this time, and _that’s_ the welcome I get?” A softly-accented, deeply-missed and familiar voice asks ironically in the dark.

Tina squeaks as his very presence seeps in and fills all her empty, sad and hollow spaces, before sitting up and launching herself at him. He’s laughing when he catches her, holding her as she presses her face into his neck and inhales deeply. “I’m glad to see you, too,” he murmurs when her arms go around him, his eyes shining at her happily.

“I missed you,” she breathes through her radiant grin, and his smile dims slightly when he brushes a strand of hair away from her face to tuck behind her ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says between soft kisses. “I’ll try not to be gone so long next time. It’s...difficult to manage time between here and there because time runs slower here.” He tips his forehead against hers, for the first time noticing that they are both without the impediment of clothing, and squeezes her hip gently. “I am...very happy to be back,” he admits, and Tina gives him a searching look.

“I was just about to go to bed,” she says slowly. She shifts in his embrace and her expression goes from gentle to speculative, until she arches her back suggestively to press her breasts against his bare chest. “Would you...like to come with me?”

Newt looks at her, seeming to remember the feel of her against and around him, the taste of her skin, and his gentle smile transforms into something sharp and predatory. “Nothing would make me happier, Tina,” he declares in a voice that is somewhere between a purr and a growl, and Tina, with a dark thrill chasing down her spine and an anticipatory warmth already pooling in her stomach, pulls him into bed.

“I’m glad you’re _home_ ,” she sighs into his mouth, but her words lose significance when talking is replaced by the whisper of bedsheets, until the only sounds in the room are gasps and moans and pleased sighs as they reacquaint themselves with each other.

*

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt by pop-rocks-and-skittles over on Tumblr, asking for demon!Newt and Tina fluff.
> 
> Want your own prompt filled? Visit my Tumblr [@katiehavok](http://katiehavok.tumblr.com). I promise not to bite!


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